Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“I wasn’t thinking,” I say. “Hell, it was my first time.”
“Your first… I do not understand. For sex?”
I nod, gritting my teeth, waiting for him to comment, but he looks more curious than amused. Then he waves a hand like it doesn’t matter, which is good. I don’t want to talk about how my childhood ruined sex for me, the connection it had with what those losers did to my mother. It’s only been with my Mary that I can forget it. With her, nothing else exists, just the moment, just the steam.
“Does she have plans for the baby?”
A smile touches my lips when I think about the hotel room, spinning her around. For those precious moments, everything made sense. I didn’t have to wonder or second guess. Everything just was. “She’s keeping it. We’re going to raise the kid together.”
“How?” he asks.
I shift in my seat. “I haven’t figured that out yet or any of it.”
“How old is she? Twenty?”
“Eighteen.”
“Eighteen, Rust.”
“I know,” I snap. “It’s young, damn young. I didn’t choose to feel this way about her. It’s not her age. Hell, I know how that sounds, but it’s not. It’s her. I’d find her wrinkles beautiful if she were a wrinkled old woman. Her youth is beautiful because she’s the one wearing it. Just like her curves. Just like her everything.”
Marquis gives me another who-are-you stare. “You are getting emotional.”
“Maybe I am,” I snap. “Maybe I can’t help it with her.”
He waves his hands, snaps his fingers, and then stands up.
“What was that?” I say, laughing.
“That was me forgetting all of this. That was me erasing it from my mind. This is what I need from you, plain and simple. Whatever you gave me during yesterday’s practice.”
“I was angry,” I growl. “It’s weird, but thinking about the baby gives me a purpose. If I think about fighting for Mary and my kid, the emotion may work in my favor. This is all new to me.”
“I want that Rust,” he says. “Everything else can wait. The fight is six short weeks away. The baby can wait. Your lady can wait. Just give me the killer I know you can be.”
“You got it, coach,” I say, hoping I can do it, but he said something wrong. He said my lady can wait. She can’t, and I can’t wait for her either.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
MARY
“I thought we could finally do some proper sightseeing today,” Brad says over breakfast the day after the conference. I spent last night watching movies on my laptop, a complete waste of a trip, and resenting myself for it.
I smile at Brad, doing my best not to think about Rust. I wonder what he thinks and feels about the baby, about everything. “Even your friend knows he doesn’t want a future with you,” the specter of Mom teases, but her voice is getting weaker the more I come to terms with the fact she wasn’t well. I remember what Chrissy said instead, the support she gave me.
“What do you think?” he says.
“That sounds great.” I can still taste his best friend’s come, even though I’ve brushed my teeth several times since then. I loved the taste of it, in the moment, or more, the power it gave me. How obsessed he was. God, what is wrong with me? I stare down at my pancakes.
“I wanted to tell you,” Brad says after a pause, his voice quiet over the sound of the dining hall, the clatter of cutlery against plates. He changes seats, moving his plate. “… so many times, but I didn’t want to ruin your perfect image of her. Then I heard those videos.”
“And you learned I didn’t really have a good image of her. I get it,” I sigh. “I know watching that video is nuts, okay? But when I first started, I was too little to understand it. I just thought, there’s Mommy. Listen to Mommy, but you’re right. She was mentally ill.”
“It doesn’t make this any easier.”
When his voice breaks, I slide my hand across the table, grab onto him, and let him feel my fierce love for him. I can’t give honesty, but I can let him feel my love. Support. Something. It will all go away the day he finds out.
“I forgive you,” I say, knowing it’s wrong, knowing I’m just trying to make myself feel better.
“You don’t have to—”
“But I do, Brad. I forgive you. Okay? I love you. You’ve sacrificed so much for me. Without you, where would I be? I know you only want the best for me.”
He clasps my hand tightly, getting choked up with emotion, and then tries to smile it all away. “So, what do you think? Shall we see some sights?”
“Sounds good to me.” I try to smile, too, and if I put all this stuff in my head into a very tight box, it almost feels convincing.